


For Pride, For Honor, For Glory

by arachnida



Series: GoT Verse [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Intoxication, M/M, Original Fiction, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-26 00:19:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15651909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arachnida/pseuds/arachnida
Summary: “Tell me how you sucker punched the crap out of that piece of shit Loras and embarrassed him to the point he won’t even look you in the eye.”Tanner is fifteen years old. The pretty bastard of the army, a fledgling soldier, and a popular subject of gossip; Loras wants to see if he can add another notch on his belt.





	For Pride, For Honor, For Glory

**Author's Note:**

> It’s a GOT-type setting, so genre-typical warnings apply. Attempted sexual assault of a minor, intoxication. Being influenced by GoT, I wound up lifting a few names but they're not the same characters, I assure you.

 

It said something about Tanner and Allister’s closeness to where, even after a fuck, they were cordial enough to share the same bed, hold each other close, and engage in pillow talk that ranged from military tactics to the going-ons of the campsite.

Perhaps cordial wasn’t the right word. Tanner knew, but he’d rather Allister figure it out on his own than be forthright. They had gone this long without saying what they were, preferring to let the others guess and know with looks, touches, and a need to be together to signal what they meant to each other. Tanner looked at it that way, in any case.

Allister snorted before tossing his head back and letting a laugh out from deep in his chest. “No, no, no, really? That was _you_? You, the pretty bastard of the army?”

Tanner crinkled his nose and made a snort, then a laugh. “What, you think I don’t know how to throw a punch?” He gave a light shove to Allister’s chest.

“Never said that! Tell me how you sucker punched the crap out of that piece of shit Loras and embarrassed him to the point he won’t even look you in the eye,” Allister teased, toothy grin and a devilish delight in his eyes. He pushed Tanner’s hip with a tease, laughing when Tanner brushed his hand away.

“It’s a long story,” Tanner offered, to which Allister gestured to the dark night outside. They had hours until the morning.

\---

Tanner was fifteen years old and had been making a name for himself in the army. He was diligent, quiet yet friendly; a strikingly handsome bastard boy of Lord Aesnir Palatinus III who took to a lance like the fire dancers of the south to their batons, maneuvering a polearm the way a color guardsman did a banner. Caster took a shine to him as the boy was eager to learn and prove himself. It showed in the way he pushed him harder through drills, drug him up by the collar of his shirt and threw him back into the practice ring until Tanner would nearly pass out from heat and physical exhaustion. Without being told, Tanner would tend to the stables before the stable boys, taking his horse for obstacle course drills, moving with her as one unit and piercing through dummies with his lance. He had gotten to the point of training her to buck and kick to defend him should he make an oversight.

It was a team of rider and mare if he had ever seen one.

Loras, meanwhile, was a knight who was comfortable resting on the laurels of many things: his name; his skills; his good looks. A fine swordsman, all things considered, but the titles and various privileges that came with his station had made him comfortable in recent memory. He had a reputation for being quite the dog of the army, taking nubile young men and many a blushing maiden to bed with the deftness of a fisherman in a clear lake during spawning. And he eyed the young bastard boy the way a chicken hawk did prey, not that it was unusual for any of the men in the army to have their eye on fresh meat.

Especially if that fresh meat had cheekbones like his father’s and carried himself with dignity, but sand-colored skin; wine red eyes; and slate grey hair that draped down his shoulders all of his own. Tanner would play with his hair in agitation when he heard the same refrain across the camps: “Aesnir’s pretty bastard…pretty like a woman…pretty like his whore mother.”

That same old song and dance haunted him since he was born. Everyone knew that Tanner chose not to engage in relations with anyone in the army, for one reason or another. They had their suspicions of whom he bedded, but no one had ever heard of anyone bedding him; the idea of doing so a challenge of mythic proportions. He was perfectly aware of what people said about him. It didn’t hurt any less, even as he drove himself to be a good soldier. He was a boy becoming a man with eyes on a ranked position, titles and dignity that he was frequently told he didn’t deserve due to his pedigree.

He kept to himself mostly, overseeing and training new recruits, delegating responsibilities of the camp to people he sized up as worthwhile. There was a sense of caution in his eyes, despite his gregarious nature: sweet and kind, but keeping would-be paramours well over arm’s length. Some of them had been on the sharp end of his weapon, taking the hint or seeing it as an obstacle to overcome.

Loras had been one of the latter.

It had been a day they were sniffing out raiders like hounds on a fox. It was one of Tanner’s first missions as a member of the cavalry, being expected to follow before leading. Loras claimed glory for his kills and charisma towards the townsfolk; Tanner wasn’t faulted for observing him. Tanner continued to prove himself a worthy recruit, his horse bucking and kicking when he would miss a hit to make up for his oversight, lance spearing through a neck or skull like a fork into a cut of meat. It had been a good mission all around. The night ended with a celebratory meal, ale and mead flowing freely with roasted boar and root vegetables.

Loras took the opportunity to seat himself next to the recruit, who was being teased by some of the other men for a variety of things his tongue had let slip.

“Now now, what’s everyone teasing the little blueblood for?” Loras started, gentle smile as he looked down at Tanner. He was playing with his hair; he always did when he was flustered, like he was trying to hide behind it.

“Well, Tanner here just confessed an interesting little secret for us,” started Magnus, the axe-wielder. He was bulky but intelligent, like an ancient yew or oak tree. He started out a commoner, but one wouldn’t know with how well he could mimic the upper class when discussing tactics or going ons of the army when prompted. Craster looked to him to guide the foot soldiers for good reason.

“Oh?” Loras asked, looking at Tanner. “Not good to keep secrets from your brothers at arms.”

“It’s personal, no need to share it,” Tanner started, looking at Magnus with the slightest hint of embarrassment. Loras had to admit, he was cute, painfully so. He wouldn’t have been surprised—

“I’m surprised you’ve kept your virtue in tact with all these beasts here, little half-prince,” Magnus said smoothly, the table going silent as Tanner made a thousand yard stare into his mug of ale. That wasn’t a secret; everyone knew Tanner was a virgin of some capacity. Not totally, not with the way he flirted; but enough to prove he hadn’t quite let his boundaries be breached yet. “You mean to tell me none of these strapping young men have you curious to try?”

“Oh there’s a few--!” Tanner started before clamping his mouth shut; gods, alcohol was going to get him in trouble for half of the things he said. He wanted to sign a waiver to forfeit responsibility.

“Oho, a few, huh?” Loras grinned, sitting beside the younger man with a deliberate tap of his hip against Tanner’s. “Do tell; I may be able to make something of it.”

Tanner snorted and shooed away Loras, the knight only mildly affronted. He hadn’t seen someone this shy since one of the handmaidens of the court, a soft-spoken nit named Agatha who turned out to be quite the screamer by the end of it. “Come on, there’s a few here you’ve clearly got your eye on,” the knight said with the tease of an older sibling, looking at the boy who kept squirming in his seat. He was thoroughly out of his element, dangerously close to being the butt of a joke. And with a crippling hatred of being embarrassed, to boot.

“Didn’t you mention one of those recruits? Alexander?” one of the younger soldiers offered to Tanner, whom corrected him: “Allister.”

“Ah, how cute, you know his name. Not bad though, you like that sort: manly, sure of himself.”

“I’ve also found that Scotch character rather handsome,” Tanner admitted meekly, taking another drink of ale in a meager attempt to shut himself up.

“Ahaha, two pretty men having their way at each other, looking like a pair of women without the bits!” Magnus howled at the observation. “Both of the two you mentioned, I bet they’re a right pair of cads. Allister probably fucks whoever looks his way right, and that noble boy could charm the pants off the royal family without even trying, from what I’ve heard.”

Of course Tanner had his eyes on men with experience, who had more swagger in their bodies than some men had in the experience of their lives. Loras took that assessment to heart; he could charm him, he determined. “So, those two specifically? Are men naturally your type, Tanner, or have you ever fucked a woman?”

Tanner felt his face grow a little warm but made a slow blink and nodded. “Of course. Just…servant girls, girls who were curious. Sometimes they felt bad because I’d been excluded, because they knew what I was. One girl told me that she wanted to see what it was like, fucking a pretty boy. She said I was gentle, scared even. I mean, I was twelve.”

“And your first time with a man?”

“I went to a whorehouse,” Tanner admitted. “I wanted to bed.”

Whatever embarrassment normally accompanied his admissions was surprisingly absent. Tanner was a painfully honest drunk, the kind that was perfect to assassinate literally or figuratively. Loras wasn’t in the mood for bloodshed.

“Was he pretty like you?” Magnus teased with a little sneer, more good-natured than anything.

Tanner nodded again as if a father or uncle was addressing him, coaching him through the minutiae of fucking versus lovemaking. “He was,” he murmured, “Fair skin and pale blue eyes.”

“Ah those are always gorgeous. You have good tastes, by all accounts.”

Tanner felt his face warm up more, deciding it was the ale and not the compliment. “I should probably go to bed, this is…quite a lot that I’ve talked and I’m afraid I’ll get myself into more trouble.”

“Come. I’ll walk you to your room,” Loras said, hand on Tanner’s back as he held him steady. Magnus watched the scene unfold and then back at Tanner, who was wobbling like a new fawn. Loras gathered himself and kept his hand on Tanner’s back, leading him away to the quarters.

Was it dirty-handed, taking advantage of an easily flustered, inebriated boy? Of course.

But you didn’t look at a lame boar and think “I should kill my food honorably.”

He could’ve been crueler and had half a dozen men who wanted to claim a piece of the royal bastard for themselves when he was finished, but he’d rather save the privilege in its entirety for himself. At the end of the day, Loras knew what he was: a glory hound. And he wasn’t about to look a feast away just because it had fallen to the floor. Tanner was unaware enough to not have registered where he was in the hallway, all the doors in all the corridors blending together. The braziers were like melted suns on the walls, the windows slightly tilted. He watched Loras open the door and looked around, and said something that made Loras’ blood start to run cold: “Did we pass my room, Ser Loras.”

“We may have, but do you really want to be alone in your state,” Loras replied coolly at the young boy who was doing his best not to show that he was at the halfway point of tipsy and drunk. Loras didn’t give Tanner an option to respond before guiding him into his room, the boy taking to it like a suggestion.

Loras’ room was no different than any of the other knights’ or soldiers’. Minimally decorated, a few medals and pins to suggest his stature and accomplishments along with his armor, but above all, he carried it all in his heart, character, and disposition. Tanner was both a little stunned and a little unsurprised, figuring Loras cared little for material tokens of his winnings. He looked back up at Loras, mouth against his and fingers holding his chin, firm lips against his.

A few seconds later, he registered: “Goodness, you _are_ cute.”

Tanner overestimated his tolerance, the alcohol making the room tilt and waver, but not spin. He was still a lightweight, all things considered. Loras composed himself with enough swagger to diffuse his slight sway, the cant of his head weaving and bobbing like he had a good laugh. First-timers were always easy; get them drunk enough and say enough nice things to them, and they’d do anything to keep the night going.

Tanner was proving to be no exception, especially given the fact his self-esteem issues had all the subtlety of a gaping chest wound. He starved for affection; he didn’t quite believe the experience was real. Loras especially liked the way he sat in his lap and straddled him, draping his arms around him as the knight supported him from falling over. His inhibitions had been stripped from him like his trousers were close to being; a terribly lonely boy who wanted affection from anywhere, particularly from men. It was almost sad how easy it was. He could’ve done it here, pull himself out while Tanner was least expecting it and just hazy enough to register what was going on –

But he did have a soft spot for seeing Tanner on his back, being put in his place for good.

“Ah, ah, ah, what a sweet little thing you are,” Loras teased, leading Tanner to the bed and holding his side, tracing the slight curve to it. A pretty little prize, he determined, enjoying how cute he looked as he kept trying to blink away the effects of the ale, color in his cheeks. The knight grabbed his chin, pulling him down for another kiss as the hand stroking Tanner’s side went around and pushed his ass towards him. He restrained a laugh at Tanner’s expense when the recruit fell over himself and into the bed face first.

Tanner inhaled and pushed himself up, pushing back against the bed. His sway was becoming less pronounced, his faculties returning to him as he gripped his head and winced. He looked back at Loras, a hand around his wrist as he guided him back into the bed like a song. He had him, he needed to confirm it. He loomed over the younger soldier, pinning his arms back to keep him from moving and settled himself between his legs.

Tanner didn’t like the way the knight leered at him, not as a person but a conquest. It was becoming increasingly clear there was no kindness or consideration; he was a notch in Loras’ belt, a prize that he would gloat about winning to the whole army. Tanner felt a sense of dread pool at his stomach as Loras had his wrists gripped behind his head, thrashing and kicking.

“Easy, easy, thought you said you were curious to try,” Loras whispered in his ear, coquetry with a bite of expectation. “Come on now, I know you’re pretty like a girl; didn’t think you’d be a fucking tease like one, too.”

Tanner’s nostrils flared at that sentiment. “Get - the fuck - off me,” he snarled, every syllable and fragment clipped like stabbing.

Revulsion coursed through him like sickness, feeling the urge to vomit in the pit of his stomach and to the back of his throat as Loras smashed his wet lips against his, taking a hand away to reach around and find the waistband of Tanner’s trousers, beginning to yank them down. Red flags were in Tanner’s eyes with alarms ringing in his ears; he had to do something. Loras was between his legs, pinning him down and he was scared; gods above, he was scared. He was in possession of himself to not cry or shut down, trying to relax himself from the thrash but thinking of a way to get out of the hold quickly and give enough distance between the two of them. Without fail, he curled his legs to his chest and kicked firmly into Loras’ shoulders, launching the knight off of him and a good few feet away from the bed. For a moment, he thanked the fact he was more flexible than he gave himself credit for.

He quickly scrambled off the bed, keeping a wide distance between him and the other man. He looked like a feral animal ready to strike, Loras seeing that he snatched his hunting knife off the bedside table and had it unsheathed at him.

“You come near me and I gut you. Stand down,” Tanner warned. He had all the fear of a young man but with all the determination of someone ready to kill. Loras kept down to the ground, not unlike a wolf being challenged by an upstart and aware it was losing. Tanner was merely threatening him; he was a little stunned Tanner didn’t take the opportunity to mount his back and put the knife to his throat.

“This does not leave this room. There will be no discussion of what happened tonight. So gods help us both.”

And with that, he backed against the door and slipped out, keeping Loras’ knife as protection.

\---

The morning had started normally, with an average breakfast of smoked meat, gruel and water. Men had split off into their factions and groups, sitting around their compatriots who would hear their stories and entertain their bullshit.

Tanner came in, a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he was still dressed in riding leathers. It was the middle of the week, his usual day to do his drills with Silverfish. What made today unusual was how silence came like a wave the moment he walked in the door. He looked around at the men and chose to not say a word, making his breakfast and slinking to an unoccupied table to assess the day.

Then he heard snickering, tucking his hair behind his ear. He was always self-conscious but something told him he had every right to be right now. He could feel eyes looking at him, the whole room watching him; something wasn’t right. He looked up and scanned the room. Everyone _was_ looking at him, staring at him, _leering_ at him. And he was alone, the fact making the situation worse than usual.

Where was Loras?

Something between hurt, anger and embarrassment set in like teeth. Another soldier grabbed him by the shoulder and teased: “Hey, so that’s your type? Didn’t think you’d be so quick to bend ov—“

Tanner turned at the soldier who looked at him like the he had yanked the tongue clean out of his throat. He put up his hands to his chest in a show of surrender. Tanner snarled, “Where is he? Where is Loras?”

The soldier tried his luck again. “Why, so you can demonstrate your oral abilities?”

He went white as a sheet when Tanner had his eating knife at the soldier’s throat. “I’d say you calm your oral _abilities_ before I remove them. Permanently.” Whatever warmth left in Tanner’s eyes was replaced by indignant fury, out for blood. He repeated his question one last time.

“He’s over by the fires,” the soldier spat out, legs halfway ready to give out. He was used to enemies ready to hack him to size; an ally and fellow soldier wasn’t exactly who he had intended to piss off this early in the morning. Tanner lowered the knife and turned on his heel.

He made a beeline to the fireplaces, boots stomping into the wooden floor. He stalked like a wildcat, ready to pounce and tear limb from bloody limb, finding himself next to a certain blonde and overly cocky (and not particularly handsome in hindsight) knight, glaring down at him. The knight looked up at him, a cocky smirk on his face as he rested his chin on the back of his hand.

“Well, good morning, Tanner. How’d you sleep,” he offered sweet like honey. Tanner wanted to give the world to spit it in his eye.

“What did you say this morning.” His voice was grave, holding his anger in his fists like white-hot coals, the knife shaking in his grip. He didn’t care if his hands were on fire; he was ready to burn the man alive, shove his face into the damn fire to watch him scream as the flames licked off his skin.

Loras looked surprised, letting way to mild amusement. “This morning? I didn’t take you one to care about idle gossip around the camps, always so serious.”

Tanner cut him off. “Don’t skirt the issue; what have you been saying.”

“Goodness, Tanner, I thought we had a rather pleasant evening last night,” Loras started, corners of his eyes crinkling with delight. “You were so _sweet_ , so eager to please, you know; who knew such a cautious, skittish little boy was such a sex kitten in the sack.”

Tanner felt hot in his face, his nostrils flaring even more as Loras spun a lie from his own ego, relishing in Tanner’s humiliation. “Mewling like a wanton queen, I always knew you liked cock, but goodness, not so voraciously. Couldn’t seem to keep your hands off me, practically begging me with that mouth of yours, like that cheap whore of a moth—“

One minute, Loras had his shit-eating grin like he had his cake and ate it too. Somewhere in the slow motion memory and adrenaline-fueled haze, he was up at his feet, fury and agony mashed in his eyes and brow line. His hands had flown up to cover his clearly broken nose, blood dribbling down over his lips, chin and onto the floor. It took a few seconds for pain to register on Tanner’s knuckles, blood smeared on the back of them as testament for the punch.

He didn’t remember feeling his mouth move but he heard his voice say, “The ring. Now. Gather your lance. Don’t bother with your armor.”

It took at most twenty-five minutes, a small procession behind Tanner not unlike schoolboys excited to see a fight at the nearby field. Tanner still had his riding leathers on, his hair done in a sloppier rendition of his usual topknot, curls of his hair falling out the bun and over his ears. He gripped his lance like a throat in a stranglehold, lips in a firm frown. He was ready. Loras had bandaged his nose, gauze bandaged haphazardly over it but still oozing confidence. His victory was certain; he did have more years on him in the army, after all.

“Really, Tanner?” Loras taunted. “A bastard-born greenhorn challenging a knight to a duel of honor? What honor could you possibly have?”

“I don’t lie,” Tanner started, bracing himself to either move, parry or strike at a moment’s notice.

Loras charged first; Tanner parried. The knight expected that much, swinging his blade over. Tanner read the move, ducking and rolling to the side while keeping his lance close to his chest. Loras was puzzled for a moment, but not surprised; it wasn’t too unusual for lancers to wield their weapons like spears. _Lancers without training_ , he snorted to himself.

“You did last night-“ He swung his lance again, his cocky stance making his attacks too wide, too easy to read, too easy to dodge.  He wasn’t taking a single part of this fight seriously, determining he was fighting an indignant, hurt child with wounded pride. Tanner’s face said it for him, the way rage was setting in his eyes; it reminded him of a bull to a slaughter.

He sidestepped, pushing Tanner away, who stumbled but didn’t fall. “When you said you were ready-“

They continued the back and forth, Loras dodging and Tanner attacking; impenetrable force of a man who underestimated the indignity of a boy. “When you said you wanted it-!”

It got quiet. Loras was stunned. Tanner’s lance had ripped through his shirt and shoulder, another nick on his neck. It was too shallow to damage his jugular, but the fact he even went that far made him painfully aware of his situation.

“I don’t attempt to rape one of my brothers at arms.”

And then Loras was thrown like a haystack from a pitchfork.

The knight guarded his shoulder, hissing. The blade had grazed him, but what surprised him was the maneuver. Tanner had caught his shirt, twisted the lance to catch again to be able to have him in a distance hold before throwing him to the side and knocking him to his flank. The knight only had experience of doing that move with a man in armor. His lips set into a firm line; Tanner was good, frighteningly good.

What made it worse was the maneuver proved that Tanner was ready to kill him to prove a point.

Loras drew his sword, parrying Tanner’s swings, knocked back half a pace each time blows were countered. He had gotten sloppy, not counting for Tanner’s footwork with his lance on top of the sheer force he was commanding with his polearm. The way he swung it, not only intent on slicing and eviscerating Loras, but actually hacking him, was more reminiscent of handling a halberd. The counters kept going until Tanner sliced at Loras’ hands, making the man hiss and drop his sword. Some of the men took to retreating to call for backup, someone to stop before things escalated. Tanner had him on the ground, without a weapon, and with intent in his eyes. He raised his weapon, rage replacing inhibitions, pride mercy--

“Tanner, yield!”

The whole army watched, the captain the only person who had the gall and balls to grab Tanner and his lance with his bare hands, not bothering to parry with his sword. The field was silent in awe, Tanner looking at Craster, stunned out of his indignation and brought into the reality of the moment: he was going to murder Loras in cold blood over a spiteful rumor and his wounded pride.

“Explain yourself, boy.”

Tanner was wide-eyed, angry and damn well terrified, the one man who had any right to be considered a father figure to him staring him down and gutting him with cold disappointment. Color drained from his cheeks as he looked down at the rightfully terrified Loras, who was peeking out from under his arm that he had flung to futilely protect himself from an upcoming beheading. His lance was several feet from him to his right, several paces further his sword; if he had tried to grab either weapon, he would’ve been cleaved in half.

“I-I,” Tanner started; gods above, it had been a minute since Craster had been that pissed off at him. “Loras – I, it’s personal, Loras was calling me a pretty bastard whore, lying about – I was defending my honor!” he explained, embarrassment making him trip over his words. He felt the ground wanting to sink under him; he hated being embarrassed, hated disappointing people—

His head snapped to the right as his lance fell, Craster’s right hand flat and crossed over to his left side with his left hand wielding Tanner’s lance. “Defending your honor how? By being a knightslayer on top of being a bastard? For gods’ sake, Tanner, you kill everyone who called you a pretty whore’s bastard, there’d be no one left in the country; fuck, the whole realm!”

He then looked at Loras and said, “I’ll deal with you and your stupid mouth in my quarters.” He then looked at Tanner again. “The both of you – separately, if I can help it.”

\---

Allister looked at Tanner, wide-eyed and propped up on one arm. He threw his head back for a belly laugh, watching Tanner tell the story, the way he recounted his embarrassment and sheer loathing of Loras being his typical piece of shit self.  “The hell did you tell Craster?”

“The whole thing, about how Loras tried to pin me down and was trying to assault me. He patted my back and said good job on kicking him off of me and would’ve paid all the gold he was worth to see it. Then he told me that, while I shouldn’t have been alone with Loras, that I had handed his ass so thoroughly that he wouldn’t have thought to antagonize me again. And he was right.”

Tanner had rolled to his back as he recounted the story, looking up in the direction of the ceiling but not focused. His eyes fluttered a hair, closing them as he chuckled. “Can’t believe I almost killed that idiot, thank the gods Craster stopped me. Would’ve taken weeks to clean up the blood.”

Allister looked at the lieutenant for a moment, eying his frame: sturdy as a birch tree, but not as hefty as his own; sharp cheekbones and equally sharp nose; muscles toned, not made from work like his had been. His hands were roughened from the army and from years of attempting to be a leather maker’s apprentice and son, while Allister had always hefted rocks and mortar for his father and brothers, thighs and buttocks cut from years of squatting and heaving the workload. Tanner had the body of a disregarded boy who proved himself to be a man in due time; Allister’s was the body of a boy who was expected to work like a man the day he crawled out of his mother’s womb.

To any other man, it would’ve been humbling that Tanner chose him to share it with. Allister was pleased he was the only one who had any real chance.

He broke the silence. “I suppose Loras is right about something though.”

Tanner scrunched his nose at the comment. “Gods, how?”

“You are quite the little sex kitten,” Allister teased, wrestling on top of the lieutenant and kissing his throat. Tanner came undone when he played with his bare nipples, laughing as Allister made little bites at his throat. “Glad I got to be the one to see it.”

Tanner looked at Allister for a moment, a look in his eyes that radiated something that Allister couldn’t – didn’t want to - place, but felt warm all the same. He pecked the stonemason’s forehead and murmured, “Me too.”


End file.
